


Spring in Skyhold

by indieninja92



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Masturbation, PWP, Shameless Smut, Taking Liberties with Canon Architecture, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-03-01 00:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18789319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indieninja92/pseuds/indieninja92
Summary: Cullen realises he can see into Leliana's bedroom. Leliana is pretty much fine with that. Shenanigans and naughtiness ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This hasn't been beta'd or anything so any mistakes are my own. Also, I know that the layout of Skyhold probably doesn't allow for this, but literally what is fanfic for if not for hand-waving canon obstacles to your smut xD

Spring in Skyhold. The air was warm and gentle, the evening light touching everything with gold. From his room, Cullen could smell the faint scents of the Chantry garden, food cooking somewhere, the strangely comforting smell of horses and hay from the stable. By the time they reached his tower, the smells had blended and merged into something indistinct, hazy as the spring sky.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension there and wincing. It had been a frustrating, pent-up day. With the sun shining and the fresh air rolling in from the open window, every fibre in his body had yearned to go outside, join his men in the training yard, feel the heft of a sword in his hand and the warmth of the sun on his back. He felt like his body was calcifying where he sat, slumped at his desk with a pile of paperwork on either side of him. He was a soldier, for goodness' sake - a man of action, not of words. He needed to move, to act.

But the day had slipped through his hands, like they so often did. This far north and this late in the year, the days stretched out with sunset not coming until almost midnight. But even with the long light, Cullen rarely finished in his office before dark. Tonight was no exception.

He climbed the ladder to his room, hung his cloak up and began unbuckling his armour. Perhaps it wasn't the most practical choice of outfit for a day sitting at his desk, but he was loathe to go without. It would be like making a final admission that perhaps he was not the bold, active man he used to be. He preferred to hold onto at least the faintest hope that he still might be ready to jump into battle at a moment's notice.

In his undershirt and breeches, he breathed a heavy sigh. It was foolish to waste time feeling sorry for himself. To bed, and then to work again tomorrow. He crossed to the small stained glass window and pushed it open. It was a silly, sentimental habit. Before bed each night, he liked to look out at Skyhold as it grew quiet, to cast his eyes over the towers and walls and consider the lives that unfolded every day within the keep. It grounded him - a nightly reminder that at the centre of this great, sprawling war and all the confusion and violence it engendered, at the centre of all the horror and the blood, there was something certain. Something real. Solid stone beneath his feet, unbroken walls at his back.

As he looked out, a movement in a window caught his eye. It was close enough that he could see right into the room beyond, could make out the features of the person inside, even if the flash of red hair hadn't given it away already. It was Leliana, going about her own bedtime routine. She was washing her face, a pitcher and bowl set up in front of the window. Then she straightened up, and a hot blush rose in Cullen's neck, burning like a forest fire. She was naked. No, he realised, not naked. She was wearing a slip of some kind, a pale, sheer fabric that only barely obscured her body. He could see the vague pink of her nipples through the cloth, and he wasn't sure but, yes, there, between her legs - a blush of red that matched the flourish of hair on her head.

Cullen's mouth went dry. He knew he should look away, knew he was prying. But his body wasn't responding to his brain's desperate pleas to move. It was responding in an altogether different way. In her room, Leliana continued with her routine, oblivious to her audience. She dried her face and brushed her hair, sweeping it back from her forehead. Then she leant for a moment with her hands on the table beneath the window. She tilted back her head, her white throat shining in the gathering dark, and breathed in the soft, clean air. A breath of wind rustled the trees in the courtyard below, and Cullen couldn't see, of course he couldn't see, he wasn't that close - but he could imagine the delicate pink skin of her areola shivering with goosepimples, her nipples hardening under the sweep of her nightgown.

He stepped away from the window, appalled. He swallowed, trying to get some moisture back into his mouth. His heart was pounding, his stomach twisting with shame. But it wasn't only shame he felt. He was painfully, acutely aroused, his cock hard and already starting to leak inside his breeches. He ran a hand over his face, through his hair, tried to think straight. It was hardly the first time he'd seen a woman naked - not even naked, not really - and he was reacting like a teenage boy beset with raging hormones. It wasn't her lack of clothing, he realised, the sight of her body was only part of what he was reacting to. It was the sense that he was witnessing something private, something secret. The sense that all around him the people of Skyhold went about their quiet evening lives while he alone was awake and watching.

He stumbled on his way to the bed and sat down so hard the frame creaked in protest. His fists clenched and unclenched on his thighs as he tried to get a hold of himself. A deep, shaky breath, exhaled with rigid control. Another. It took a long time to come back to himself. When he did, his shame was all he had left. He'd behaved appallingly, violating the trust of one of his most respected colleagues. It had only been through extraordinary effort that he had resisted the urge to violate that trust even further, to use Leliana as a means to the most selfish ends. Finally, as the heat in his gut subsided, Cullen made a decision. He had to act.

He went down the ladder to his office and out onto the battlements. Without meaning to, his eyes scanned the walls for that same lighted window. But all were dark, save a few flickering candles in the distance. He moved quickly, avoiding the few guards that stood sentry. In just a few minutes he had climbed the stairs to the rookery and was moving carefully through the space, trying to disturb as little as possible. His reaching hands found a quill, a bottle of ink and a scrap of blank paper. With these he made his way to the window to write, squinting in the low light to see.

'My Dear Lady,' he wrote, his handwriting strong and clear but, he hoped, not so distinctive as to be recognisably his. 'I hope you do not find this note to be too bold. I merely wish to offer some advice, as one concerned for your privacy and dignity.' Here he paused, uncertain of how to phrase his next point. After a moment, he dipped his quill again and began writing. 'My Lady, I hope I do not offend when I say that even on a warm spring evening, a woman might be encouraged to close her curtains before she prepares for bed. I trust I do not need to say more. Yours truly, a Concerned Friend.'

Cullen looked at the letter as the ink dried, reading it back to himself under his breath. It was stilted and overly formal, perhaps, but he trusted it would be taken as a gesture of kindness and not censure. As he looked at it, he felt a strange desire stealing over him. He felt transgressive, perhaps a hangover from his behaviour earlier in the night or perhaps an effect of walking unseen through the castle after dark. Or perhaps it was a remnant from the weeks cooped up in his office sorting through orders and requisitions, forever trying to create order and safety from a chaotic, violent world. Whatever the reason, there rose in Cullen's chest a sudden wild desire. He dipped the pen once more and set it to the paper.

'Alternatively,' he wrote across the bottom of the note, 'Might I suggest that my Lady would look charming in lace?'


	2. Chapter 2

It took a lot to make Leliana blush. She was, she liked to think, a woman of the world - well-versed in the complexities and diversities of human life. But now, sat in the rookery in the new light of morning, reading the note she had found tucked partway under a book on her desk, she did the unthinkable. She blushed.

It was only a fleeting rush of colour, wrestled back under her control before anyone could see. But it had happened all the same.

Leliana licked her lips. Possibilities played out in her mind's eye, a web of potential courses of action. The handwriting was not familiar to her, she was not yet sure if her 'Friend' had intentionally concealed their hand or was truly unknown to her. She could set some of her agents to work finding the author's identity. She could investigate herself - keep it a private affair. Or, of course, she could simply close her curtains of an evening and be done with it.

She had often left her window clear when she went to bed, enjoying the view and perhaps, yes, enjoying the sense of boldness that came with even such an innocuous act. She had simultaneously been amused by the idea of someone seeing her and yet confident that they had not. A confidence that was, it seemed, misplaced. But rather than making her cringe, the thought made Leliana... excited. Especially reading the final sentence of the note, a scribbled afterthought as if the author simply couldn't bear to let the possibility go unacknowledged. The possibility that she might follow none of the paths available to her. That she might allow herself to be seen. Indeed, that she might even enjoy it.

She folded the note back up and slipped it into her pocket. Her decision could wait. For now, she had more pressing business to attend to - the small matter of an international war, for example.

 

It took her three days to get ready. The practical matters were simple, requiring nothing more than a few coins pressed into the right hands here and there. Child's play for Sister Nightingale. What was more difficult, and more surprising, was getting herself ready. Leliana was used to acting decisively and getting what she wanted. Now, she didn't even know if this was what she wanted. It seemed so... unlikely. And the more she considered the question, the more unlikely it seemed.

She wanted to be seen, yes, that much was clear. Why, she couldn't say, but the want was there. But when she probed further, her thoughts spooled out into strange places. She wanted more than to be seen, she wanted to be watched - to know that she had a rapt and silent audience. Moreover, she shivered deliciously at the thought that she could not see them, knew nothing about them. She would be exposed, vulnerable, nothing she ever allowed herself to be in the ordinary progression of her life. The thought thrilled and frightened her.

 

By the time Leliana was ready to act, Cullen had all but put the incident behind him. At least in daylight, he allowed himself to assume the matter was over and done with. In the evenings when he looked out at Skyhold - albeit with rather more caution than he had in the past - he saw no lighted windows beckoning his attention, no glimpses of pale flesh, no flash of red hair. It seemed Leliana had taken his advice. During the day, it was easy to accept that it had been a simple accident, not to be repeated - and certainly not to be wished to be repeated. Whether those thoughts were quite so convincing in the dark of his bedroom at night, well, that was between him and the Maker.

For three days, he pushed the matter aside and concentrated on his work. The first time the Inquisitor summoned her counsel to the War Room was, admittedly, a little awkward. But he was a grown man, and a Templar besides. He was sure there was no outward sign of the effort it took for him to look Leliana in the eye.

And then, on the third night, he lost the battle entirely. He was stood as he stood each evening, leaning against the window frame in his room and taking a moment to settle his mind before bed. And for the third night in a row, his eyes drifted inexorably to the place he knew Leliana's window was. It was dark, just as it had been for two nights before. But even as he watched, light came into the room. It was Leliana coming in for the night, her work finally finished for the day. 

She carried a candle and as she stepped into the room she used it to light others in the room until the whole space around her was lit in soft golden light. She was dressed in her usual outfit, though her hood was down and her gloves already removed. Her hands seemed so small. Cullen watched as she started to unbuckle the leather armour she wore beneath her hood, laying each piece in its place on a dresser. His heart was in his mouth, each movement of hers so deliberate it seemed to focus his attention closer and closer.

She lifted her mail tunic over her head, leaving her in just breeches and a shirt. And then, to Cullen's inexpressible disappointment, she pulled the curtains closed with a single, definitive movement. Cullen cursed under his breath, at himself rather than at Leliana. He shouldn't have been looking in the first place, hanging out of his window like a peeping tom desperate for the slightest glimpse. How dare he now have the gall to be annoyed that she wasn't indulging his continued violation of her privacy?

He squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed. This was ridiculous. He was too old for such behaviour. He needed to go to bed. He opened his eyes again to do just that - and froze. There, standing at her window with the curtains thrown wide, lit by candlelight like a vision of Andraste herself (and he wasn't even going to try to unpack that one, some blasphemies were simply too outrageous) was Leliana, dressed in nothing but underwear that seemed so delicate a breath of wind could have stripped her naked.

Cullen made no pretence of wanting to look away. He stared, full and long, drinking in the sight of her. The fabric she wore did not escape his attention. Even at this distance, there was no mistaking the fragile loops and flashes of bare skin beneath the web of fabric. He had been right. She looked lovely in lace.

Framed by the window, Leliana looked like a portrait come to life. She ran a hand down her body as if smoothing the fabric that clung to her, but there was a sense of presentation in the gesture too - as if she were an expensive item in a jeweller's case. Her entire body, from the set of her shoulders to the jut of her hip, carried a message of enticement and suggestion. Only her eyes said anything contrary. These, she kept down, never raising them to look out of the window. The risk was too great - she had no interest in catching sight of her audience, far preferring to keep their identity a mystery.

She turned away from the window with a swing of her hips that made Cullen's cock twitch in his breeches. He was hard again, the front of his breeches stretched tight around his cock. He pressed his fist against himself, an unconscious attempt to ease the pressure. As he looked, a swimmy, lurching sensation came into the pit of his stomach - the slightly sickly, shuddering sensation of breaking the rules and enjoying it. He swallowed, his throat tight, and started to unlace.

Leliana moved through the room with performative grace, every movement calculated and beautiful. She bent to open a drawer with her arse pointed directly at the window, her underwear rising up on the soft swell of her buttocks. As she searched through the drawer, she moved her feet a little further apart - a tiny movement, really, but filled with such implication that Cullen had to press his lips together to stifle a moan. He was stroking his cock now, slow, even strokes that he barely knew he was doing. When Leliana straightened up, she had in her hand a small glass bottle. She uncorked it, and set both the bottle and the cork down on the windowsill. Then, with the same careful elegance, she raised her leg and rested it on the table below the window frame.

In this position, Leliana picked up the bottle once more and poured a little of its contents into her palm. Then she rubbed her hands together and smoothed the substance down over the soft, pale skin of her lower leg. Her hands moved in slow, languorous circles up from her ankle. Cullen was lost in the sight, his mouth hung open and he barely blinked. When she reached her thigh, he dropped his head to lean against the stone frame of the window, never for a second taking his eyes off her. Her hands moved higher and higher and the bounce of her relaxed muscles moving under her touch mesmerised him. The lace edge of her underclothes lifted, he pressed forwards to try and see more of the flesh underneath- But the moment passed, and Leliana moved on to her other leg.

The performance was no less enthralling for its repetition. Again, she moved slowly from the ankle to the thigh, her lovely red hair falling gently across her neck. Then she brought her foot down and started to apply the lotion to her arms. Cullen had never really considered Leliana's arms before - indeed, he had never considered her body at all, her role as his fellow advisor had always presupposed any such consideration. But he saw now that she had the long, graceful limbs of a dancer, slender but strong, like a young tree. And her fingers, so long and fine. What else, he wondered, could those fingers show him?

The thought made him press his teeth into his lower lip and he hissed at the pain. His cock was leaking in his hand, a steady flow of precum beading and dripping from his tip. He smeared a little over his cock, slick to the touch and throbbing hard. As if she had no idea what effect she might be having, as if she was oblivious, Leliana began to rub a little lotion into her decolletage. She slipped the straps of her underwear down over one shoulder, and the next. Cullen could barely blink for fear of missing a single moment. She turned her back on the window and reached up behind her to the fastenings on the back of her garment. With careful, practised fingers, she undid them one at a time. Each undoing exposed a little more of her to him - a sliver of white skin revealed. When she reached the final clasp, she hesitated. Then, with her eyes carefully turned down and her mouth twisted in a wicked smile, Leliana turned back to the window, and pulled the curtains closed with a flick.

Eyes half closed, Cullen stumbled to the bed and pulled down his breeches with fumbling, clumsy fingers. His cock sprang fully free at last, he kicked his breeches off his feet and fell back against the pillows. A small part of his brain protested that he shouldn't, he mustn't, babbling about respect and boundaries and honour, but the rest of him was alive with animal sensation. His hand moved hard and fast, fist tight about himself. With his other hand, he pulled his shirt up and ran his fingers down his chest, relishing the feel of cool air on his hot skin. Then he reached down to cup his balls, pulling on them gently, rolling them in his palm. Before long he felt a familiar tightening in his belly, the final crescendo before his peak. And then the wave broke and he spilled himself over his stomach and chest, dripping down his side to pool on the mattress beneath him. His cock pulsed, twitching in his hand until he was empty.

It took a long time for Cullen to come back to himself. He had no idea of how long he'd been lying there, his mind a reeling wasteland, devoid of any thought at all. He felt completely and utterly relaxed for the first time in months - years, perhaps. It didn't last long. Eventually he became aware once more of his body, the rise and fall of his stomach as he breathed, the uncomfortable stickiness drying on his skin. As soon as he realised that, the moment of peace was over.

He dragged himself upright and cleaned himself off with the basin and jug of water on his dresser. He spared a glance out of his window - Leliana's room was still dark, no sign from outside that anything unusual had ever occurred. Then he splashed water on his face and ran his hands through his hair, the cold bristling his scalp. He took a breath, and held it. Drops of water fell from his face, the sound of them on the basin loud in the silence of Skyhold. Then he exhaled, slow and measured. He had never, never had an experience like this. To have a woman so brazenly, so willingly display herself to him. His cock, spent as it was, twitched at the thought. A single thought consumed him - he needed more.


	3. Chapter 3

The bird was in the wrong place. It was one of the ravens meant for the Inquisition forces to take with them on their latest mission, ready to fly back to Skyhold with news as needed. But the regiment of troops it had been assigned to hadn't left yet and their supply carts - including the cage of messenger ravens - were still in Skyhold. And yet here was the bird, ready on its perch, waiting for a reward for bringing its message so swiftly.

And there was a message tied to the bird's leg - a tightly rolled scroll marked as urgent and strictly private, to be delivered unopened to the spymaster as quickly as possible. The scout who delivered it to Leliana did as they were told, staying only long enough to recount the strange circumstances of the bird's arrival.

Alone in the rookery, Leliana unfurled the little message. As soon as she saw the handwriting, she understood. The raven had never left Skyhold - it had been taken from the cage and sent by someone within the keep. Not just someone - her Friend, her captive audience. Leliana appreciated the effort they had gone to to communicate with her, a fine and clever alternative to sneaking into the rookery, where the risk of getting caught was prohibitively high.

'Dear Lady,' read the note. 'Forgive the brevity of this note. There is not space enough to tell you how I appreciated your-' Here the writing broke, a space before the next word which started with a tellingly heavy stroke, a sure sign that the pen had been dipped before continuing. Leliana could imagine her Friend trying to find the right word, space so precious on this little scrap of paper. 'Your performance,' the author opted for at last. 'Truly, it was a stirring sight. Might I dare hope for an encore? Yours truly, a Grateful Friend.'

Grateful, indeed? Leliana laughed. She felt giddy, like a girl with a secret. Of course, she was a woman with many, many secrets - but so few of them were hers. This was different, a quiet little mystery all of her own. She smiled at the letter, reading it through once more. Then she tossed it into the fire, making sure to stay to watch each part of it burn. Even as she watched, another plan was beginning to unfurl in her mind. She hoped her friend would appreciate it.

 

To his eternal horror, Cullen almost missed it. The night that Leliana brought her plan to fruition, he had been working late - requisition forms to work through, scraps of ink and paper and dizzying tallies telling him, in minute detail, the state of the Inquisition army's resources. Everything from plate armour to the smallest dagger was accounted for, and Cullen knew that this is how wars are won - that these numbers on a page equated to real people spilling real blood out in the field, that he couldn't afford not to care. But, still.

By the time he got up to his room he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and fall asleep immediately. It was a pure whim that took him to his window, an unthinking, dogged commitment to his routine. As soon as he looked out, he knew how close he'd come to missing something truly remarkable.

Leliana stood at the table in front of her window, fully clothed, though her hood was pulled down. She was writing something, concentrating on the task in front of her. Cullen hardly looked at her - his attention was taken by the activity behind her in the body of the room. He could see the door was open, and a number of servants coming and going, all carrying something in their arms. Cullen looked a little harder, and realised that they were bringing hot water from the kitchens. Leliana moved fractionally to the side, and Cullen's eyebrows shot up. There was a copper bathtub standing in the centre of the room, hauled up by servants at Leliana's request. Now they were filling it, ready for Leliana to enjoy at her leisure.

Cullen couldn't believe his eyes. She couldn't be serious? Surely this was something unrelated to... to whatever it was they had going on between them. Surely, he told himself, she was simply having a bath in peace and quiet. It was a rare luxury to have in private - most people washed in their rooms with a jug and basin or took to the communal baths in the barracks - but it certainly wasn't unheard of. No, this couldn't be for his benefit. She would undoubtedly close the curtains as soon as the servants were finished and bathe in private.

In fact, Leliana did not seem concerned with the bath at all. She straightened up in front of the desk and Cullen's attention fell back to her. From the desk, she lifted a small strongbox, hardly six inches long, and rested it on the windowsill where she could be sure her audience would see it. Then, with exaggerated movements, she unlocked the box with a small key, placed the note she had been writing inside, and locked it again.

To Cullen's surprise, her next move was to walk out of the room entirely. She said something to the servants as she went, and for a minute or two was completely out of sight. Cullen scanned the windows nearby for some sight of her, some glimpse of red hair and pale skin to follow her passage.

Finally, she reappeared on one of the battlements. With the same exaggerated care, she placed the strongbox on top of the battlement, drawing attention to it again. Then she lifted it down, apparently concealing it somewhere in the wall. She walked away and as she came to the door to take her back inside, she stopped. Looking from side to side, as if checking to see if she was being watched, Leliana reached up and placed the small metal key on the top of the door frame.

Cullen understood immediately. It was a solution to the problem he had tried to solve with the raven - how to communicate with one another without risking his anonymity. He liked this solution far better. For one thing, it allowed her to communicate back to him, which opened up a wealth of possibilities Cullen hardly had time enough to imagine.

Leliana came back into her room just as the servants finished their work. The last maid emptied her jug of water into the tub, curtseyed to Leliana, and closed the door behind her. Cullen drew a breath. The performance was about to begin.

She started simply, pulling off her gloves finger by finger to reveal those same small, white hands that had so enraptured him before. They moved slowly over her body, unbuckling, unclasping, loosening here and there until she stood once more in her underclothes. He'd never seen this set before, a dusky green that made him think of forests and autumn air. The fabric was so thin that he could see the outline of her nipples even from this distance, and her breasts bounced slightly as she moved, barely held in place. Her underpants were just as small, cut at the back in such a way that they covered only the top half of her arse, and rode up slightly in the middle. Had she been wearing these all day? Stood beside him in the War Room, had she been wearing these same clothes, her small breasts loosely bound and bouncing beneath her shirt? He had the sudden thought of being alone with her, pulling her breeches down over that perfect arse and bending her over the War Table, burying his face in her, tasting her, the noises she'd make-

He pulled himself away from the fantasy with an effort. And just in time, it seemed. Leliana was walking, her hips swaying gently as she moved, to the far side of the bathtub. She reached into the water and checked the temperature with her hand, as if doing nothing more ordinary than simply taking a bath. Then she turned her back on the window, and slipped out of her underwear almost before he knew what had happened. She was naked only for a moment, a brief flash of her fully unclothed, her pale body lit by candlelight. Then, she stepped into the tub and the water obscured everything. She had sat facing away from the window - away from him - and all he could see was the back of her head and her knees, peeking up above the water line. He scowled, frustrated. He had been trying not to touch himself, conscious of cutting the pleasure short if he started too early. But now it seemed he had misjudged. As far as he could tell, Leliana was doing nothing but soaking in the hot water, obscured from his view by the angle of the tub. Perhaps she thought he could see her. Without knowing where he was watching from, there was no way she could account for the angle of his view. He heaved a short, exasperated sigh. The evening had looked so promising.

Just as he was thinking of giving up, she moved. It can't have been an easy motion, bunching herself up and swivelling so that she could turn 180 degrees. But she managed it with the same easy grace that all her movements had had since this performance began. Now she was facing the window - facing him, her little breasts bouncing easily, buoyant on the water. Cullen stepped forwards, unthinking, and the cold press of stone wall jolted him out of his reverie. He was only distracted for a second, though. Then his rapt attention was once more on Leliana, her soft, white body blurred by steam and deep water.

Everything that had come before had been merely an overture to this, the real substance of the evening. Leliana ran a hand over her breasts, squeezing gently. Her other hand rested briefly on her stomach as if making sure he'd noticed it. Then it slipped under the water. Her legs fell open, her head tipped back against the side of the tub, and Cullen felt a part of his brain quietly implode.

The rhythm of her arm was unmistakable. He couldn't see any details - the water obscured his view, even if the distance hadn't. But he could see the gesture of her hand moving between her legs, could see the way her chest rose and fell in short, desperate breaths, could imagine the press of her teeth against her lower lip as she touched herself and thought of him.

Cullen's fingers fumbled on the laces of his breeches as the thought overtook him. Any thought of savouring the moment was lost, he took his cock in his hand and squeezed, desperate for relief. He tried to keep a steady rhythm but even the sound of his own body was arousing, the slick noises of his fist pumping his already-leaking cock. Across the courtyard, Leliana too seemed to be losing her rhythm. He watched as she started to move her hand with jerking, unsubtle motions, too overcome by the sensation to put on much of a show. But Maker, she was even more delicious like this - undone with pleasure, her back arched to lift her small, pink-tipped breasts out of the water, her free hand squeezing and pressing her nipples in a way that made Cullen's mouth water.

Her orgasm gripped her, full-bodied and undeniable. Cullen saw her sudden rigidity, knew that under the water her fingers were pushed deep inside her tightening cunt. He came then too, hard and fast, spilling come over his fist and across the front of his breeches. He leant his head against the window frame, struggling to stand as the last shudders of his orgasm ran through his body.

"Oh, Maker," he whispered to the stones.

When he was able, he raised his eyes again to Leliana's window. She was enjoying her own afterglow, lying loose-limbed and languid in the bath. Eventually she pulled herself out of the water and walked, naked and unashamed, to the window. Vaguely Cullen wondered if she was cold like that, but there was no urgency in the thought. There was no urgency in anything. Leliana pulled the curtains across the window frame and was gone. Cullen felt strangely alone, suddenly, as if he had been transported in a wonderful dream and woken to find it all unreal. He waited a little longer, unwilling to end the moment before he had to. Then he turned away, and started to clean himself up.

 

He woke early the next morning when the light was still fragile and new. Skyhold was not sleeping, not entirely - servants moved through the castle making ready for the day ahead, and there were always guards awake somewhere in the sprawling fortress. But there was a hush in the air, breathy as the high cirrus clouds that gestured white across the sky above.

He dressed quickly, taking advantage of the quiet. In an hour or so people would be up and moving, starting their days in earnest. He slipped out of his tower and started along the battlements to the place he had seen Leliana hide the strongbox the night before.

It was hidden well, slipped into a crevice in the wall where it could only be found by someone who knew what they were looking for. With the box retrieved, he ran his hand along the top of the door frame until he found its key. He mustn't tarry - he opened the box, removed the note from inside and had it locked and back in place in under a minute. With the note safely stowed in his pocket, he went back to his room as casually as he could manage.

To his surprise and not a little shame, his hands shook slightly as he unfolded the piece of paper. He swallowed against the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. Leliana's handwriting was simple but elegant, looping effortlessly across the page.

'My dear friend,' the note began. 'If you are reading this, I must assume you have seen the entertainment I have put on for you this evening. It is a strange feeling to be writing this before the event, as it were. I find myself unaccountably nervous, fairly shaking with the delicious excitement of an actress on opening night. I do hope you enjoy yourself. I would certainly like to hear your review - and of course, any suggestions for how I might expand my repertoire.

'I suggest our next encounter take place at the usual time and in our usual places (wherever that might be, in your case...) in five days time. That is, five days from my writing, as I cannot be sure when you will read this. And I would sorely hate for you to miss the show!

'I hope to hear from you soon, dear friend, and will be sure to check for your reply before our next encounter. With affection, Your Lady.'


End file.
